Maman
by kidwearsacap
Summary: He sat on the red silk of her bed, swinging his skinny white legs and studying the brass buckles on the shoes that he hated so much. The navy blue shorts and waist coat felt heavy and suffocating, and the wool socks scratched his sensitive skin to a point where he wanted to itch his ivory flesh raw, but he sat without complaint, for L loved his mother.


How was it possible that someone as vile as Kira could be born from such kindness? It was unfair… L knew from the bottom of his heart that Light was Kira. Every ounce of his being told him so. He sat, perched on the edge of the hotel chair, dark eyes studying a flickering screen that featured Light Yagami speaking whit his mother. Envy coiled in his stomach at the sight of Sachiko being so kind to her son. He bit further on the quick of his fingernail to ease frustration building from within.

L hated to remember her, on that white snowy day when he was only eight years old… But watching Sachiko Yagami as intently as he was, the memory spawned like an old picture film in his mind. Had the fellow members of the task force been around, if they had stared into the solid obsidian orbs they would not have seen reflections of the Yagami household, but nostalgia in its purest form.

A tall, thin woman with flowing golden hair and beauty beyond belief barked orders in French at maids as they busied themselves around her, adding swipes of red rouge to succulent lips and trinkets to the sunlight colored hair, only increasing her beauty to other worldly. This woman was L's own mother, and she was his entire world.

He sat on the red silk of her bed, swinging his skinny white legs and studying the brass buckles on the shoes that he hated so much. The navy blue shorts and waist coat felt heavy and suffocating, and the wool socks scratched his sensitive skin to a point where he wanted to itch his ivory flesh raw, but he sat without complaint, for L loved his mother.

At the dinner party his mother held, ladies dressed as exotic birds and squawked about the bastard child of the famous actress Colette Gillet and the visiting Japanese politician Eiji Kichinoski. L who had been listening in quietly and writing equations and random words on a napkin, found it necessary to banish himself to the furthest corner of the ballroom. He had begun to dislodge himself from the crowd when he caught sight of his mother. Her eyes turned to his and her face turned into a blanket of sheer grief.

In the quiet of his bedroom, L tore the decorative garments from his sweaty flesh and threw himself to the cold wooden floor in a shaking heap. He lifted his head from the cradle of his arms and glared at the mound of clothing; he reached a skinny white arm beneath his bed and withdrew a single long sleeved white shirt. This was the only article of cloth that didn't irritate his delicate flesh. The shirt was his fathers who, on his latest trip to France had left it, along with L.

The door to his bedroom opened after an hour, and his mother entered. She had removed her luxurious dress the color of cranberry and diamond ornaments that adorned her throat and stood in simple pajamas, she was still beautiful. She found L, his spine curled and his knees pulled to his chest, he sniveled into his shirt. She walked to him, kneeling to his height she caressed his wild dark locks, allowing him to cry.

"Lawliet, mon fils ... Je suis tellement désolé ... S'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi ... Pour la douleur que je vous ai causé ". _Lawliet, my son... I am so sorry... Please forgive me... For the pain I have caused you. _She continued to stroke his wild locks, and he turned his face to stare at her. He was such a good boy to his mommy… He studied her with wide trusting eyes, and she moved her petite hand from his head to his cheek, and smudged away the salty tracks of sorrow from his face.

"Maman"! _Mommy! _He cried and flung his small arms around her waist. Why did those people hate him? Why didn't mommy stop them from hating him? He loved his mommy, didn't she love him?

"Vous sentez comme votre père" ..._You smell like your father… _The words laced with hurt, sadness, and longing slipped from her former painted lips, and she pried him from her waist. She stared at him for a long moment and her hair curtained her eyes. In English she murmured

"I am not suited for motherhood to you, a bastard child of a man not even from this country… Thus our time together is almost up"… Little did Colette know, L's tutor had taught him fluency in Japanese and English. She left him then, to curl into his quiet corner, wide eyed and trembling, his fragile heart lie in tatters.

The wind snuck its icy fingers beneath the sleeve of his coat and chilled him to the bone. His scarf was lifted from his throat and flew like a phantom toyed with the frayed edges. L walked hand in hand with his mother, listening to her heels crunch thousands of clustered snowflakes with every step. L knew deep down, he'd always known she couldn't wait to rid herself of him, every kind face she made, every maternal caress; everything had been a façade, after all she was France's pride and joy in the acting department…

"Whammy". She uttered a single word to a masculine figure who tipped his hat in her direction. L's hand was released from her gloved grip, and his mitten fell against the side of his coat with a dull thump.

"Care for my son". She addressed the man with a command, and he in turn nodded. Colette acknowledged her son with a final glance, her face revealing nothing, and she turned and made her retreat.

Any other child would have torn after their mother, screaming profanities in desperation at fear of abandonment… But not Lawliet… That would have been a nuisance to his mother… The man took L's small hand in his and led him to wrought iron gates where children pressed their faces through, eyes wide with wonderment. He followed not out of trust or wonder at the large buildings that lay beyond the gates, the reason he followed silently without fight was because he did not want to be a nuisance, because he loved his mother…

L awoke with a start, his eyes blinking rapidly at the feeling of human contact. He looked around, eyes wild and frightened, he instantly relaxed when he saw Watari leaning over him, gently placing an olive green blanket over his shoulders. L did not say anything, but allowed his eyes to wander back to the television and the Yagami household.

Watari rubbed L's head affectionately. He knew L hated shoes because as a child he was forced into tight leather shoes with irritating buckles that clicked when he walked, he knew L hated anything clothing but his jeans and white shirt because they made him feel hot and confined, he knew wearing socks would lead to deep scratches along his legs because "They're itchy". Watari knew L's eating habits were unhealthy because when he had first developed teeth, his mother permitted the consumption of anything he liked, and he mostly knew of L's inability to sleep… L had told him when he was a young teenager that every time he had closed his eyes, he saw that day, the snowy day where Colette had left him alone…. Occasionally L did sleep, and that was when he was most vulnerable… Watari had always been nearby to comfort the boy, whether it is dressing a blanket on his shoulders, preparing him a fudge sundae, or listening to L shout profanities in French till the ache in his chest lessened.

Watari sat in his bedroom, folding L's laundry when he heard the quiet shuffle of L's pants.

"Watari, may I come in"? His voice was quiet and child like, signaling L would be at his weakest.

"Of course, you don't have to ask". Replied the old man as he set down a final starch white shirt. L shuffled inside, and from behind his back he pinched in his forefingers a magazine clipping.

"It says here… She married him"… He showed Watari an image of Colette Gillet and Eiji Kichinoski, grinning happily without a care in the world. The picture was obviously years old; it was worn with age and crinkled from being folded up so many times.

"L I'm so sorry"…

"That isn't it"… L then reached into his pocket and withdrew a new paper; it was glossy and obviously fresh off the print. How L had managed to get it without leaving the hotel room even Watari couldn't guess.

"I tore this page from Mr. Matsuda's magazine… It says she died"… The room silenced at once, and the paper slipped from his hand, and landed on the hotel floor. L then behaving out of character fell to his knees and clawed up the paper in his bony hands and clutched it to his chest.

"Maman"… _Mommy_


End file.
